


It's a Kind of Magic

by Mister_Fahrenheit



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, Closeted Character, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Drinking, Drug Use, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Freddie Mercury Lives, Friends to Lovers, HIV/AIDS, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, POV Third Person Limited, Paradox, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Homophobia, Roger has a lot of stuff to figure out, Roger misses Freddie more than he expected, Roger time travels to save Freddie, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, but the clock is ticking, playing hard and loose with magic, suicide (sort of), that's the basic plotline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mister_Fahrenheit/pseuds/Mister_Fahrenheit
Summary: From the moment we are born, we are dying. It’s a marathon for most but for others? For others, it’s a sprint before the starting gun can even go off. Unfortunately, Freddie was in the latter camp, leaving those closest to him to finish out their marathons without him. When this proves harder for him than he ever expected, Roger finds himself putting his trust in a familiar stranger and gets more than he bargained for. Turns out though that it’s gonna take more than just a kind of magic to right the wrongs of the past and bring Freddie back.
Relationships: Anita Dobson/Brian May, Brian May/Chrissie Mullen, Dominique Beyrand/Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/OC, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, Roger Taylor/OC
Comments: 33
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a freelance writer by day and as someone who hasn’t written anything fanfiction in probably a decade, I didn’t really anticipate putting pen to paper (or fingers to keys, I suppose) as a hobby anytime soon. The idea for this story has been naggling in the back of my brain for a while though, so I figured maybe it’s time to give it a voice. Massive ‘thank you’ to quirkysubject, whose amazing read For the Day I Take Your Hand inspired me to get back into the “writing for fun” saddle and try my hand at Queen fanfiction. And another massive ‘thank you’ to anybody who gives this story a shot.
> 
> Buckle up, this will be a long one. It’ll also probably be a slow burner. Main pairing will be Freddie/Roger because I adore all things Froger, although others will probably make appearances or have mentions. Tags will be updated as things shape up.
> 
> Content Warning: This first chapter deals with a major character death (Freddie’s, specifically) and takes place at his funeral. As you can tell from the tags, we’re trying to undo all of that but do keep in mind that it will be very angsty for a while.
> 
> Something else to keep in mind, this is also an AU. Timelines and events won’t be completely accurate to the real-life ones nor the those depicted in Bo Rhap. Just a heads up!  
> Now that that’s all out of the way, onto the show! I hope y’all enjoy.

It was a cold, cloudy, and grey Wednesday and it was the most miserable day ever. Roger had been dreading this and long before he had ever received the call that Fred was gone. In a way, he’d really been dreading it since the day they had first become friends. 

He’d never allowed himself to really dwell on it then, but looking back, he just knew that Fred would never make it as long as the rest of them. It wasn’t really something conscious. It was just a knowledge buried deep inside of him. Kind of like how you know when you’re being watched or know you need to come up for air when you’ve been under too long at the swimming pool. It’s just something intuitive, instinctive. You don’t know how you know – you just do. Except this knowledge left Roger with such an intense feeling of angst that it threatened to swallow him whole. 

No, no. I can’t do this, he thought. It was way too early for him to fall apart. And even if it wasn’t, he most certainly wasn’t going to allow himself to do it in front of the prying eyes of others. No, for now he’d shove it down. He was good at that and he hung onto that fact. 

Roger desperately wanted a glass of whiskey or at least a cigarette to steady his nerves. Instead, he turned to stare out the window of his limo in silence. Cars, buildings, people, trees. He’d seen it all countless times but none of it had ever looked so gloomy, even in the Britain cold. Part of him idly wondered if it looked like that because of how he felt or if Freddie had just taken some of the world’s zest for life with him. Truth be told, it was probably a little of both. It had hit him not for the first time how horrible it was that a man with such love of life was forced to have his cut short. It wasn’t fair. Out of all the people on the planet, why did it have to be Fred? 

Before he could fixate on that much further, the car pulled up to the church. The stark white and the dark of the other surrounding mourners made Roger mildly nauseous. Still, he made his rounds, receiving a flurry of condolences and offering his own words of comfort and small talk where he could. It all sounded hollow even to his ears, but it seemed appreciated, nonetheless. 

After spending a little time with Mary and Freddie’s family, Roger spotted the rest of his band members and quickly found himself encased in Brian’s arms, his flattened curls pressing against Roger’s temple. He didn’t say anything, but he really didn’t have to. 

Afterwards, Roger wrapped his own arms around John, who looked at least ten years older in the washed out, grey daylight. It didn’t take long to feel tears sliding down his cheek and he gripped the other man tighter. He wasn’t quite sure who they belonged to, but he felt better telling himself they were definitely not his own. Brian’s hand came to rest on his shoulder as if he knew the answer.

Out of all the places on the planet, the three remaining friends would’ve preferred to be anywhere else, away from all the overflowing of grief and flowers and invasive press. But this was for Freddie. They had done everything together. And they would do this together, too. 

***

Roger’s grand plan of holding steady lasted for all of 20 minutes, the dam immediately weakening as he saw Freddie’s coffin carried into the chapel. It was disturbing enough knowing his best friend’s body was in it, but it was made infinitely worse by the fact that it looked altogether too light. He had tried to block out how skinny and gaunt Freddie’s illness had made him, but now, with the end result of it right in front of him, he couldn’t help but wallow in it. It took all the breath he had left in him. 

Next to him, he saw Brian dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief and Roger felt the lump in his throat grow. All he had ever wanted once he found out Freddie had AIDS was for him not to suffer. The universe hadn’t even given him that.

The service itself was almost a welcome distraction. Done entirely in Parsees, it was difficult to follow along with what was happening while the constant sitting and standing offered a physicality to focus on. It made coping with everything more tolerable, at least until he had risked taking a look at Kash and Freddie’s parents. The shattered look on their faces was enough to shatter Rog all over again, and he made sure to keep his head forward for the rest of the funeral. 

Once the priests closed out the rest of the ceremony, the small group of attendees started to shift around, trickling through the aisles with pained, grieving looks. Roger and the remainder of his friends stayed still, watching the crowd grow thin then disappear entirely. 

Finally, it was just the four of them at last – Brian, Roger, and John sitting in the row of chairs, slumped and silent, and Freddie lying still in the coffin across from them. 

The tears had already started to well up for Roger, knowing that the hardest part was finally here. Their final goodbyes to the kind, sensitive, talented, legendary man that had been their rock and confidant for over half their lives. How were they supposed to do this? How could anybody ever say goodbye to their best friend? How could anybody ever possibly let go of Freddie Mercury?

Rog looked to the men beside him and saw the same question plastered over their faces, too. Slowly, Brian got out of his seat and the other two followed suit, moving to stand side by side right at Freddie’s coffin. It seemed so small, so insignificant compared to the once larger-than-life man it held. 

Without a word, the boys snaked their arms over each other’s shoulders as they had done many times in the past. United as always.

Miles away in thought, tiny fragments of days long gone flooded Roger’s mind. Vivid as ever, he saw memories of cold, tiny flats and impossibly tight harlequin leotards and packed stadiums rush over his eyes. Memories of the brightest yellow jacket and even brighter toothy grins ran alongside those of Christmas concerts and silly sombreros and battle cries of ‘Ay-Ohs’ and the reminiscence of a million outrageous parties ending in even more outrageous stories. 45 years of life filled to the brim and doused with fun, fame, and friends. And yet, still not enough.

Roger finally closed his eyes and allowed himself to openly cry. Despite all the life he’d had, his friend had still deserved so much more. His bandmates beside him tightened their grips and choked out their own sobs. It was horrible, crying in front of their friend’s casket and lifeless form, but at least they were with each other. On the edge of his subconscious, Rog tried to soak that in, knowing it would be the last time all four of them would be together. 

Some time later once the tears came a little slower, Roger heard John manage to croak, “There will never be another Freddie.” 

“No. There can be only one,” Brian added with a sad, tearful laugh. The others agreed, gritting their teeth to keep sobs in their throat. 

“No one will ever replace you, Fred.” John promised, his voice wavering. “You’ll always be my best friend. Nothing can ever change that.” 

“Why is it always the good that die young?” Brian sniffled and wiped at the trail of tears on his cheeks. “I can’t do it, Fred. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say goodbye to you. I hope you’re okay with a ‘see you soon’ instead.”

The enormity of the moment flooded over Roger, but he found himself unable to find the right words. Taking a couple minutes, he reached out and gently stroked his hand over Freddie’s coffin. 

“Rest in peace, old friend,” Rog swallowed thickly with emotion. “For me you’ll never die.”

On either side of him, Brian and John nodded their heads vigorously in agreement. “Well said, Rog.” John choked out. 

The three stared at the fourth’s casket, the weight of it all hanging over them. So much left to say but no time left to say it. 

“We will never forget you, Fred… We still love you.” 

Roger and John offered supportive looks and squeezes to a broken Brian before gazing back to where Freddie rested.

“Yes, we’ll always remember. We still love you, Freddie.” The surviving friends let their words float in the air, hoping that wherever he was, Freddie had heard them. A few heartbeats later, the three took their leave, saying a final silent goodbye.

As the church doors swung shut, Roger tried his best to just look forward, but he couldn’t help looking back just one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short and depressing this chapter is. I promise, it will get better. You can rest assured that I will never write angst unless it has a happy ending. It just might take us a bit to get there. 
> 
> If you ended up liking the chapter and are curious about where the story is going to go, let me know! Feel free to comment because it just makes me work that much harder. 
> 
> And, of course, I will try to update as regularly as humanly possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, hope you are doing well! Thanks so much for sticking around and for giving this fic a chance. Also a very big thank you to everyone who has given this work kudos and has given words of encouragement/praise. You are all the best. 
> 
> I hope you're ready and excited for a new chapter. I most certainly am. This one practically flew out of me. Apparently it really wanted to be written. I have no intention of questioning it so I guess we're all going to buckle up and enjoy the journey together.
> 
> Let's not waste anymore time with the drawn out fluff though. On with the newest chapter. Enjoy!

**October 1997**

There were a few times in Roger’s life that he felt like a true champion. Helping create multiple number one albums, seeing ‘I’m in Love with My Car’ on the B-side, Live Aid, playing for a sold-out, packed Wembley Stadium, it all created a heady, powerful feeling in his veins that made him feel as if he could do anything. Now? Now, he could barely remember that sensation anymore. When was the last time he had felt it?

Well, it most certainly wasn’t after the touring was over and Freddie had admitted to the band that he was sick and would only get sicker. It wasn’t the countless times press cornered him, offering him wads of cash to confirm that Freddie had AIDS or that Brian had been cheating on his wife for years. It wasn’t when he’d married Dominique for the kids’ sake and it most definitely wasn’t when he got the call that Freddie was officially gone. 

He should have felt it when his children were born or at Freddie’s tribute concert, but he didn’t feel it then, either. He’d felt proud at the former but more than anything, he felt guilty – guilty that they’d grow up with a father that could never give them 100%. 

As for the latter, he didn’t even feel proud. He should have. After all, they had put on the biggest celebration of Freddie’s life. They had filled Wembley to the max, they had gathered dozens of the very best artists, and they had played harder, louder, and fiercer than they had in years, blanketing the crowd in Freddie’s legacy and showing their lost friend that they’d never let anyone dare forget him. 

Roger should’ve felt like he _did_ something. He should have felt like he’d done Freddie proud. He should’ve felt like the biggest winner in the world. And yet, as he had pounded out the final notes to ‘We are the Champions,’ he had felt anything but. All he felt was the sticky sensation of sweat on his palms and an emptiness that felt like it could never be filled again. 

Now _that_ was a far more familiar sensation these days, right now included.

 _Knebworth,_ he thought to himself suddenly. Knebworth was the last time he felt like he could do, could be anything. How sad that was over a decade ago now. 

“Rog, did you hear me?”

Roger blinked his eyes hard, willing himself to focus on the somber bassist in front of him. 

“Yeah, yeah I heard ya.”

John sighed, his shoulders sagging heavily. “I’m sorry, Rog. Really, I am. I just don’t think I can do it anymore. It just hasn’t felt the same. Not since…” 

“…yeah. No, I get it. I really do, Deaky. I just wish things could be different.”

John’s mouth twitched at the corner’s a little hearing the familiar nickname, but his eyes kept their same, sad gaze. 

“Me too.” He stilled and sucked in a deep breath. “But hey. It’s not like I’m gonna fall off the face of the planet. I’ll still be around. We’ll still see each other and talk plenty, I’m sure.”

Roger wasn’t so sure himself but went along with it anyways. It was easier that way. He wasn’t the one who questioned things. He’d leave that to Brian. 

“And I’m not retiring yet,” John added. “We’ve still got a song to finish, you know.”

Roger nodded, looking around the studio. Everything was a mess. It seemed like every surface was covered in either tape, discarded lyrics, or some kind of alcohol. Off to the side, Roger’s cymbals were horribly askew, and the high hat was completely gone, needing repair thanks to a rather large crack Roger had put into it earlier in the day. There were also various keyboards and guitars propped precariously against a wall here and there, some even lying in the middle of the floor just waiting to be tripped over or damaged. It wasn’t the Red Special but still. 

It briefly occurred to Roger that this is probably what his brain looked like on its best days. He shuddered to think of how much worse it would be when he finally snapped like Deaky’s bass string earlier. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, Deaks, but I don’t know if I can finish it right now. I mean, look at this place. It looks like World War three in here.”

John hummed lightly in agreement. “Not our best organized chaos, is it? Never thought you of all people would be complaining about a mess but you might be right. Maybe we should regroup and come back in a day or two.”

Roger agreed to those terms, helping John clean up a bit before calling Brian and heading out into the crisp October night. 

***

Roger sat still on the well-worn patio furniture, dutifully letting his friend ramble on while lightly drawing on his cigarette. He didn’t know why Brian insisted on forcing them to spend their time outside in the cold instead of in the warm, welcoming house. He had lived through the 70s and 80s. Why put a moratorium on smoking inside now? Well, he could pry his Silk Cuts from his very cold, dead hands. Taking another drag, Roger had to admit that it was kind of nice getting to sit outside and see the stars. It wasn’t exactly joyful, but it was more peaceful than he’d felt in a while. 

“So, what do you think?”

Roger cocked his head, his brows lightly furrowing. “About what?” 

“About the trip idea.”

“Jesus Christ, Bri. I don’t know what to think.”

“You don’t have to go all dramatic on me, Rog. The histrionics are totally unnecessary. I just want your opinion.”

“My opinion on packing up everything and going on a vacation to some town in Ireland?”

“Yes.”

Roger pinched the bridge of his nose, nearing closer and closer to the edge of a migraine. It briefly flitted through his mind that all the chain smoking and his tall glass of bourbon was probably not helping, but he’d be damned to have this conversation sober. 

“Why do you want to do this again?”

Brian sighed. “I told you, Rog. I just think it would be nice for all of us to get away for a while.”

“To Ireland?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, to Ireland.”

“To?”

“To enjoy each other’s company for a bit.”

Roger gave a loud, unexpected laugh. “Enjoy each other’s company? You know, Bri, you could try getting me and John into bed right here in London. I mean, you’ve already got a king size. Plenty of room. No need to travel to another country for that,” he teased good-naturedly. 

“Yes, that’s what this is all about. Seduction. Sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. No, you twit,” Brian reached over and lightly flicked Roger’s ear, laughing. “I just… I don’t know. I just want us to spend some time together, that’s all. It’s been a while.” Brian quieted and pursed his lips. 

“We were all just together a couple days ago.”

“You know what I mean. Away from recording and…everything.”

Roger did know what he meant and honestly wanted the same. He missed spending time with his mates, just goofing off and having fun. No arguments about track composition or discussions about business contracts or the lingering, unspoken grief that descended upon them all every time they were in a room just the three of them.

“I do know what you mean. I just,” he took a deep breath. “You know that it’s not going to make John stay, right?” 

A brief flash of pain showed on Brian’s face, only to be quickly replaced with a careful, measured look. It made Rog feel incredibly guilty.

“I know that. I’m not stupid, Roger.”

“No, no. I never said you were,” he quietly added. “I just wanted to make sure…” he trailed off. 

_This isn’t necessary._ Roger thought to himself. _It’s been rough on Brian. Why not just give him this, you insensitive wanker?_

Truth be told, it wasn’t a horrible idea. They’d all been through the wringer the last few years. Why not try to wring a little bit of enjoyment out of whatever they could?

Roger cleared his throat and let a small grin grow. “Actually, you know what? Why not? We’re not getting any younger. Might as well take a small vacation. It’ll give me a great excuse to practice my slacking off skills.”

Brian gave a chuckle and broke out into a big smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling. Rog didn’t even remember the last time they had done that. Yeah, maybe this was actually a good idea. Maybe it would do them all good.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Of course, that’s if Deaky’s into it.”

Brian nodded excitedly, standing up. “Well, why don’t we give him a call and see for ourselves?”

Roger nodded and followed along into the house, his cigarette still lit and his drink mostly empty. While Brian talked to John, he immediately refilled Rog’s glass, not even chiding Roger on his drinking habits. A few minutes later he hung up with a smile on his face. 

“Deaky’s in.”

“Okay then,” Roger said. “Guess we’re going to Ireland.” 

He took a drag on his cigarette and smiled back at his lanky friend. Brian was happy. And happy enough that he even let Rog smoke in the house for the rest of the night. It seemed like a major win in his book.

***

Over the next few days, the boys spent most of their time locked in the studio finishing up their song, trying desperately to be done with it all before they took off on their trip. Finishing up Freddie’s tribute had been more emotionally draining than any of them were prepared for, though and by their last session, more time was spent cajoling John out of locked rooms or pulling Brian out of his infamous spirals than actually recording. Nothing would have gotten done at all had the other two tried pulling Rog away from his own coping mechanism of cocaine and alcohol. 

In the end, they decided to leave small unfinished bits until after the trip. Not because they couldn’t have gotten them done, but because they weren’t ready for it all to be over. By the time Sunday came, they were ready to get the hell out of dodge and find something to distract them. Despite John and Roger’s initial reservations, they now couldn’t think of anything better to do than fuck off to Ireland for 2 and a half weeks.

“So, Brian. Where exactly are we going again?”

“Ireland,” Roger replied cheekily.

John gave him a patented Deaky stare down, forcing Roger to look away lest he burst into flames.

“Thank you for that, Rog. Very helpful,” he replied dryly.

“Actually,” Brian cut in, “We’re going to be making a few different stops. Limerick and the neighboring Adare are first up.”

Brian turned to the bag at his side, pulling out a brochure that looked particularly tourist-y. His excitement about it all but confirmed it. 

“See? Limerick is right here,” he pointed to a dot on a map. “It’s one of Ireland’s largest towns and I’ve actually never managed to visit it. I thought we could spend a few days and explore some. Apparently, it’s got some really lovely museums and gardens to check out. There are a few antique shops I’ve really been wanting to take a look at, too.”

“You never know where you’ll find a good stereo camera, eh Bri?” 

Brian shrugged with a slight grin on his face. “You got me.”

“Hey, is that a castle?” Deaky asked, pointing to a picture in the brochure.

“Yep. I thought we might be able to get a tour of it, if we’re lucky.”

“Good lord. That’s quite the schedule there, Bri.”

“Don’t worry, Rog,” Brian reassured. “We’ll have plenty of downtime too, don’t worry. I know how you like sleeping in past lunch time.” 

John snorted and Roger couldn’t help but give him that one. 

“What can I say? I need my beauty sleep.”

Of course, that opened himself up to a barrage of friendly banter and insults, but he couldn’t find it in himself to pretend to be irritated. He had been feeling infinitely lighter since they had lifted off in their plane away from the drudgery of day to day life and he was hoping that was a sign of good things to come. 

“So, if we’re doing all that in Limerick, what’s on the menu for…”

“Adare?” Brian supplied.

“Yeah, what’re we doing there?”

“Well, I figured we’d do more of our actual relaxing there. You know, do all the planned stuff in Limerick and kind of retreat back to Adare to take it easy. It’s supposed to be absolutely beautiful. Lots of gardens and parks. Plenty to explore.”

“That sounds really nice, Brian.” Deaky said. “I could get behind that.”

“Oh,” Brian’s eyes flashed with a little excitement, “There’s also supposedly some kind of magic fountain or something in Adare, too.”

“Magic fountain? What kind of bollocks is that?” Roger scoffed.

“Well, according to this, it’s been there for centuries. Far longer than the town has ever existed. Legend has it that it was blessed by some local god or another and that those with pure hearts can get a wish granted there.”

“Do you really believe that bullshit?”

Brian laughed. “Hey, I’m just telling you what the brochure says. As a man of science, I can neither confirm nor deny unless I see the evidence for myself.”

Roger gave a hearty stretch, his back crackling like Pop Rocks. God, not even 50 and he was already getting old. 

“Well, if you need help chasing down your magic water, let me know. I’d love to wish for a new spine.” 

The rest of the band got a laugh out of it and then settled down to play a game of three-man Scrabble and idly discuss weather and what they wanted to eat for dinner. Once upon a time, it would have been mind-numbingly boring, but all the years and grief seemed to bond to their bones like cement, making them exceedingly grateful for companionable, quiet moments like this. For the rest of the flight, each bandmate couldn’t help the private smile that threatened to tug at his lips. 

***

Touchdown and check in to their hotel rooms was uneventful, a small blessing that should be appreciated for what it was. Unfortunately, throughout Queen’s time, they’d had more than their fair share of unfortunate ‘incidents’ along their travels. 

One time in Rio, Roger had actually accidentally stumbled into the wrong hotel room one night and was beaten by an old lady with a shoe who thought he was a robber. He had promptly been arrested and the rest of the band had to find a lawyer to help bail him out and smooth things over. All had been going rather well until Roger made the idiotic move of flirting with one of the lady guards. Then they had to not only deal with the Rio authorities, but also had to call in Jim to deal with the Brazilian government at large. It had not been one of his better days and Roger was forbidden from ever talking about it again, especially while their poor manager was within earshot. 

Rog was now always grateful after that when first trips anywhere went smoothly. They’d been to Ireland before, but he understood better than anyone that your reception is different every time. 

After enjoying the easy beginnings of the trip, Roger and the rest of the boys decided it was about time for a little dinner. They wandered around for a bit, asking fans who recognized them if they had any recommendations. Eventually, one fan informed them that she actually worked at a great local café and traded them a free meal for an autograph each. Not like they needed it. Any member of Queen could have probably bought food for the entire town and barely made a dent in his wealth, but they thoroughly appreciated a good deal, nonetheless. 

It turns out that the fan wasn’t kidding. The café really was fantastic, with a cozy atmosphere perfect for the cloudy weather, delicious food, and even good vegetarian options for Brian. By the end of their supper, each man was uncomfortably stuffed, and Roger had to loosen up his belt two notches just to sit without feeling he was being cut in half. It was one of the best meals any of them could remember and they made sure to give the fan additional autographs and plenty of pictures as a proper ‘thank you.’ Honestly, they would have done it anyways as they adored all their fans and this girl really was quite sweet, but she seemed far more pleased this way. 

After all the fan service and a lovely chat, they wandered back to the hotel full, content, and pleasantly tired. After stopping by its bar for a couple drinks and a quick rundown of the plan for tomorrow, all retired to their rooms to get a well-deserved night’s rest. 

Throwing his black wool coat down on the suite’s sofa, Roger glanced up to the wall clock to his left. Only 11:30, but he was absolutely knackered. He wasn’t sure whether it was from the travel, the food, or the drinks, but at this point he didn’t really care. Immediately, he ambled over to his bed, unceremoniously stripped his clothes off and flopped onto the mattress. It was soft and warm, and it made drifting off to sleep as natural as breathing. 

Roger’s comfortable dozing didn’t last long. He didn’t know how much time had went by, but he very quickly realized that something was terribly wrong. Instead of pleasant dreams or the nothingness of deep sleep, he was thrown into an inky blackness unknown to even the darkest of nights. It made him deeply uneasy and he attempted to walk forward, trying to find a hint of light anywhere. That’s when he realized it. He couldn’t move. His skin practically vibrated, and his heart rate doubled, anxiety coming in rapid waves. 

_It’s okay, Roger. It’s okay. Deep breaths. It’s just a dream._

Despite his reassurances to himself, he edged closer and closer to panic. Unable to move, unable to see, he was completely vulnerable. 

_Hearing? What about hearing?_

He clenched his eyes tightly, listening for anything in the dark. Roger felt a small pang of relief when he heard nothing, but something told him that it wasn’t actually a win. In response, he refocused, listening harder into the nothingness.

Silence. Silence. 

Then his blood ran cold. 

He suddenly felt a feather light touch against his neck. And just a couple inches from his ear, he could barely make out the sound of a rattling breath. 

He tried to scream but no sound came out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so far, Deaky has announced his retirement to the boys, Brian has planned everyone an Irish getaway, and Roger is going through some horrible experience instead of enjoying a peaceful night's sleep. It's been a full few days for these three. And I can guarantee you a lot more is yet to come in the next chapter. What do you think is going to happen next? Feel free to speculate and leave a comment down below! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Stay tuned for more!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. So sorry for the long wait! I'm infamous for losing track of the days and work/the pandemic have made it endlessly worse. Regardless, I'm still hard at work on the fic and am excited to keep it progressing. Hope you enjoy it. I'll try to update more regularly whenever possible. Anyways, on with the show.

“Roger…” The rattling breath turned into a voice, whispering directly into his left ear. It sounded so familiar.

The darkness loosened its hold on the man, and he found himself able to break free, quickly turning his head to find the voice. Nothing.

“Roger…” It repeated, to his right this time. He whipped around to face it, only able to see an eerie fog rise up around his form. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, down to his jaw, and landed into a pool of water that appeared at his feet. It made a splash that was deafening in the quiet space.

He looked down to see the ripples growing outwards from the pool only to have his head harshly jerked upwards by an invisible hand.

“Pay attention,” another voice commanded from nowhere.

He blinked, suddenly finding a familiar scene appear in the darkness. Suddenly, there was a gnawing, nauseating feeling deep in his stomach.

_Oh, no. No, no, no. Please no._

Less than half a meter away from him, Roger saw Freddie lying in his sickbed, looking worse than he ever remembered seeing. He thought he was gaunt the last time he saw him, but no. That was nothing.

Here, Freddie was little more than skin and bones, his cheekbones brutally protruding and his jawline looking sharper than any knife. Around his closed eyes were dark, bruise-like circles that looked thoroughly painful and made Roger’s breath catch in his throat. At Freddie’s neck, Rog could see every single vein and tendon straining out under the paper-thin skin, could practically see his faint pulse fluttering.

His eyes flooded with tears, the floodgates bursting as he heard the faint, rattling, breaths from before. Too slow, too pained, too far apart – small, breathless gasps that reverberated throughout Roger’s entire body and sent chills down his spine.

Haunting couldn’t come close to describing it.

Roger threw himself onto the ground, sobs racking through his body, forcing every last breath he had out of his lungs. Just as well. At least if he suffocated, he would be put out of this misery.

“Please, please stop,” he begged. “Please don’t make me see anymore. I can’t… I can’t do it. Please don’t…” Roger’s forehead pressed against the inky dark ground as his whole body shook.

“I said, pay attention!” The disembodied voice shouted, and Roger found himself violently pulled up to his feet. He was firmly held in place, forced to watch as his best friend took his last, shaky breath and stilled.

As soon as it happened, an ear-splitting sound like a lightning strike sounded out and the scene changed. Gone was Freddie and the image of his bedroom to be replaced with quick spurts of other things he had never seen. Mary spreading Freddie’s ashes in the garden, Chrissie screaming, throwing Brian’s clothes out a second-story window, a blonde boy who was no doubt related to him drumming his heart out on stage, Brian contemplating something he held in his hand, cheeks wet with tears – a million different pieces of moments Roger never knew played out in front of him like a movie.

Finally, it all slowly faded, replaced by the image of his hotel room. Roger’s breath was fast like he’d run a marathon and he idly placed his hand over his heart to calm it. Tears were still streaming down his face, stinging his eyes, making his skin feel all too warm.

He got up and wandered into the suite’s bathroom, immediately splashing cool water on his face. It was almost as cold as ice. He lifted his head to look for a towel, a gasp dying in his throat as he saw his reflection in the mirror.

He was old, with short, purely grey hair replacing his still mostly blonde locks, his face etched with lines and years of living. He quickly glanced down at his hands, noticing the skin stretched thinner over the bones and covered in tattoos.

He jerked his head back to the mirror and saw his reflection out of sync with himself, its image leaning forward with arms balancing against the sink.

“Wake up!” It commanded.

A loud bang and Roger was sent careening back into himself.

***

For the next three nights, Roger was terrified to go to sleep. He’d never openly admit it, but the dream had left him seriously shaken up. He kept trying to shrug it off or explain it away. _It was just a dream, just a nightmare_ , he’d think to himself. But no. It wasn’t just any old nightmare. He’d had countless in his lifetime and none of them were anything close to that. They didn’t do that; they didn’t _feel_ like that.

No, whatever it was, it was not just a figment of his overactive imagination. Nor was it the result of going a little too hard on the brandy. That was what Rog did most days and it never resulted in anything even remotely similar. He’d had dreams, of course. Sometimes even terrible ones. And Freddie dying was a fairly frequent scenario in them, subconsciously crafted by a potent mixture of grief and bone deep guilt.

They’d all seen the signs, felt Freddie pulling ever further away from them. They’d be having a lovely time together laughing, talking. But inevitably Paul would show up, reminding Freddie about a club he’d wanted to go to or encouraging him to meet one of Paul’s countless friends. Freddie would then make some kind of teasing remark about attending to his adoring fans or sometimes only a curt wave and would flit off just like that.

Every time it happened, Roger felt nausea well up in him hot and dark. He never could really place why. Rog honestly didn’t have any problem with the clubs that Freddie frequently visited. He knew what kind of clubs they were, knew what went on behind the closed doors. It never really bothered him. Roger wasn’t completely vanilla himself and he most certainly wasn’t a prude. It didn’t even particularly bother him that Fred was going off without them.

Looking back, it’s obvious what was so distressing. It was that Paul was pulling Freddie away from them. He actively encouraged distance, mistrust, irritation. There was safety in numbers, but Prenter broke that down until he had Freddie in the palm of his hand. The thought sickened Roger. Ultimately, that killed his best friend – and he could’ve stopped it. He should’ve stopped it. He just didn’t know how, didn’t even know he needed to in the first place.

He felt the divide between them growing larger, but he genuinely thought things would work out on their own. He thought Freddie would eventually see what was happening and come back to them. _He did,_ Roger thought bitterly. _When it was already too late._ That thought sent yet another wave of pain and guilt through him. He was his best friend. And yet he did nothing.

Those thoughts inspired countless nights of tossing and turning, constantly contending with images of his friend sick, pained, and dying. Too thin, too frail. The nightmares were always horrible, but this was different. It felt like… like almost a warning. Even the skeptical drummer thought it sounded ludicrous. All the images he saw – Mary, Brian, that kid – they felt real. The him he saw in the mirror felt real. It was all so delicately detailed; he just didn’t buy they were random mishmash pieced together by his brain.

But if he was entertaining the crazy idea that it all meant something, what about Freddie? Everything else was like a premonition, but Fred was already gone. And what about that voice? The invisible, tight hold it had over him? What the actual fuck was that? It physically forced him watch his best friend die all over again. It told him to pay attention. Why? What did it all mean?

Roger growled, furiously throwing the closest object to him as hard as he could. He could hear it break apart, shatter against the wall but spared it little thought. He knew he was being stupid. Actually, he knew he was being a complete idiot. But knowing that couldn’t stop his frustration from boiling over. The lack of sleep and haunting visions were wearing him down.

In the middle of his thoughts, Roger was startled by a knock at his hotel door. Cursing his heavy bones, he trudged his way over and was greeted to the sight of a concerned looking Brian and John.

“Hey Rog,” Brian cautiously started. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah. Everything’s fine, Bri. Why do you ask?” Roger lightly bit his lip, before looking up at his lankier friend.

“Well for starters, we were supposed to meet up an hour ago.” Deaky answered instead.

“Right. And, I don’t know, you’re just looking kind of rough. Have been for the last couple days.”

Damn Brian. Always noticing the details.

“Well thanks, Brian. Really touching to hear I look like shit.” Roger said with obvious sarcasm. He could practically hear Brian roll his eyes.

“I don’t mean it like that, and you know it. We’re just worried about you.”

Deaky nodded along in agreement.

“I really do appreciate that, Bri. Honestly. But I’m fine. Just haven’t been sleeping well lately –must be the travel.” Roger shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “You know how I can get.”

Brian didn’t look totally convinced, worry still lining his face.

“Is that why there’s an alarm clock in a million pieces?” John gestured over Rog’s shoulder; lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. So that’s what he’d thrown earlier. He’d have to remember to apologize to the hotel staff before he left. And probably pay a lot of money. Oh, well. It wasn’t like he was hurting for cash.

“It woke me up. I couldn’t just take that laying down, now could I?” Roger joked. He laughed, hoping it was enough to placate his friends. He wasn’t irritated with their concern. Not really. In fact, it was kind of nice, but he wasn’t in any position to explain it to them.

What was he supposed to say? _Oh yeah, sorry I’ve been in such a mood. Some horrible invisible force in my dreams grabbed me and made me watch Freddie die in agony before showing the future or something. Hope you understand._ Yeah, that would definitely go over well. He could only imagine the mental health lecture he’d get from Brian. No thank you. He’d rather suffer than end up on some fainting couch with a psychiatrist scribbling in his notebook.

Brian and Roger still looked at him a bit like he was a brittle piece of glass but seemed to accept his explanation for the time being.

“Fair enough, Rog,” Brian lightly added, then frowned. “I hope I’m not making things worse. I hadn’t even thought – Was the schedule too much?”

Roger immediately started shaking his head. “No, no, Bri. The schedule was good.”

“Are you sure?” His brow furrowed. “I mean, was the town tour too much?”

Roger tried to reassure the anxious guitarist. Easier said than done.

“What about the castle…?”

Roger gave a small yet genuine chuckle finally. “No, relax. I liked the castle, Brian. Honest. It was really cool.” He looked over to Deaky for confirmation and he nodded vigorously. “I’ve been having a great time.”

Brian breathed out a little. “Okay then. Good. Well let’s hope that continues. And hopefully you’ll be able to get some better rest from tonight on.”

“Why, what’s tonight?”

John and Brian shared an amused look between them. “Going senile already, Rog?” Roger growled good-naturedly at John in response. “I knew you’d forget. Brian managed to rent that little cottage in Adare, remember?”

Oh yeah. As a matter of fact, Roger did remember that conversation. Well, vaguely. Sort of -ish. The word “rent” had penetrated his brain at some point while he was practically falling asleep into his soup the other night, but he’d given it little other thought. Not that he was going to fess up about it. He hated proving them right.

“No, no. I didn’t forget, Deaks. Give me another few minutes to finish packing up and we’ll get the hell out of here.”

The others gave their okay and headed towards the lobby to wait for the drummer. Rog gave the room a cursory glance and shrugged his shoulders, beginning to throw things haphazardly into the nearest bag. Not the most organized way to handle things, but he didn’t want to keep Brian and John waiting too long. He’d never hear the end of it.

And if he was being honest, he was thrilled to be leaving the hotel. It was beautiful and luxurious to be sure but had taken on a haunting quality since the dreams started. A change of scenery would be good, and some downtime would be appreciated. Maybe that’s all he needed to feel better. He doubted it; something told him that things would get worse before they got better but he pushed it to the edge of his mind. He was here in a gorgeous country, on vacation, and with his remaining best friends by his side. That alone made him such a lucky bastard and Roger desperately wanted to appreciate that while he still had it. Because it was clear that Queen was hanging on by a mere thread – and he didn’t want to let go. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but a rather disturbing one for our poor Roggie. He's had a rough go at it, lately. Luckily (or not depending on how you look at it), things are going to ramp up a lot in the next chapter. Actual plot development is happening, folks. This is not a drill! Stay tuned. In the meantime, let me know what you thought of this chapter and once again, big apologies for being MIA. As I said, more updates coming soon. This is definitely not being discontinued nor forgotten.
> 
> Enjoy the rest of your day/night and catch you soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a completely unexpected chapter. I sat down to start writing and just couldn't stop. I did this instead of sleeping, so apologies for any mistakes. I'll try to fix any glaring ones tomorrow. Also, there is some development in here but not quite like as promised. Sorry, folks. That will for sure be in the upcoming one. It's a major turning point into the main plot, so stay tuned. 
> 
> This one is still pretty significant and long, however. Hope you enjoy. Quick warning first, though. Things get pretty dark and angsty towards the middle-end. TW for self-harm mention and disturbing dreams. Read responsibly!

The short car ride to Adare was quiet, peaceful. The late morning sun cast a warm, golden glow on everything it touched, and it lightly soothed the frantic mess that was the natural state of Roger’s brain lately. The lack of sleep and beautiful weather combined to make him feel sluggish and a little stupid. It was kind of like that pleasant feathery moment at the edge of your brain right as you become tipsy. Soft and slow and comfortable. Roger didn’t even know the last time he had experienced this. But he did remember experiencing it often when he was younger – much younger, with a boyish, long-haired Freddie by his side. Before the fame, before the fortune. When him and Freddie and Brian and John lived together in a cramped flat and ate cheese on toast for holidays.

Roger would scrounge together whatever little coin he could and present Freddie with the cheapest vodka money could buy. He was always thrilled with the treat and would demand Roger spend the afternoon with him, sipping away at the (more often than not) disgusting drink, just spending time. They’d laugh, gossip, complain, dream. Sometimes they wouldn’t even say anything at all. Sometimes they’d just listen to a record or watch the world move along outside their window, an arm casually draped over one another or knees awkwardly bumping on the too-small sofa. Then John and Brian would come home from class and join in and everything was perfect.

This kind of felt like that. Warm and companionable. For once, Roger let himself relax into it a bit, allowing his head to lean against Brian’s shoulder as he looked out the car window to the land moving by. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Brian looked a little surprised, but he quickly moved past it. The edge of his mouth turned up in a smile; fingers lightly combing through Roger’s short locks. They never did this anymore, but they had indulged once upon a time, a period where touch between men was more normal. Rog realized he missed it. He was a gruff man, especially these days. He liked his cars, his drugs, his women. He liked sports and any movie with violence or explosions. But this was his family and the physical reminder of that felt good.

As Rog peered outside, now firmly within the small village, he felt Deaky squeeze his knee and he did the same back including him on the moment. It was weird. Looking at the ridiculously green grass, the swaying trees, the colorful little houses – and feeling the presence of his bandmates on either side of him – some strange sense came over Roger. There was one obvious, glaring admission in the car, a piece of the foursome no longer there, but it practically felt like he was. Rog had never believed in that woo-woo spiritual stuff, but he knew Fred. Knew what it was like to be near him. He had an undeniable energy to him. It just radiated off the man and Roger felt it every which way he turned. Totally bizarre and totally nonsensical, he knew, but didn’t really care. Roger felt close to him and it was really nice. No other way to describe it. Even if it was for a fleeting moment, he relished the false feeling. Could almost picture Fred sitting near him, head lolled back in complete ease and relaxation.

It briefly occurred to Roger that maybe he _was_ drunk or that maybe someone had slipped him something when he wasn’t paying attention. Wait, no. That didn’t check out. Roger had been in the hotel all night until morning. And he hadn’t even grabbed anything off the complimentary room bar, either. So much for that theory.

“Hey, Bri?”

“Hmm?” Brian replied quietly.

“Do you know if Freddie ever came here?”

Brian seemed to think it over for a second, concentration crossing his features. “Mmm, no. No, I don’t think so, Rog. Why do you ask?” His eyes flitted down to the blonde, hand still playing with his hair.

“Dunno. No reason. Just seems to be someplace he’d like.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Freddie would find it adorable with its multicolored buildings and thick, lush foliage. Like something out of a storybook.

Brian’s gaze turned fond. “I think you’re definitely right, Rog. What about you, Deaks?”

John nodded an affirmative. “Would’ve loved to record here, don’t you think? Tranquil. A bit like Montreux but warmer… And cuter.” He laughed.

The mystery of the weird energy, or emotion, or whatever you wanted to call it still wasn’t solved, but Rog felt little need to examine it further. He’d wanted to enjoy himself, so he wasn’t about to convince himself out of it.

The car pulled up to what he presumed was their rental and Brian in turn pulled Roger close for a second, looking down at him apologetically. “Sorry, Rog. I told the rental lady I’d sign all the paperwork and go over some stuff as soon as we got here. Why don’t you and John go get settled then we can hang out in a bit? That sound okay?” Brian’s voice was gentle and kind.

“Sure Brian, that sounds fine. What room is mine?”

Brian got out of the car, spinning around to talk to Rog. “Whichever one you want. You and Deaks can go ahead and figure it out amongst yourselves. Whatever’s left is fine by me.”

Roger nodded in understanding and went off with John to check out their new place for the next few days. It was small, actually tiny in a way he wasn’t expecting. A far cry from the expensive glam of the hotel they’d just left, cozy was the word that came to mind. Entering the house led straight into a small dining area. Completely open to the kitchen straight ahead and living room to the left, it felt quaint rather than cramped. Homey and familiar, even though it was in reality totally foreign to him. Roger was usually a fan of spacious and contemporary rather than rustic and compact, but the temporary living space had an undeniable charm to it. It felt safe – a status that few places had afforded him over the years. It was decidedly un-rockstar-like but it was a surprisingly welcome change.

Attached to opposite sides of the main area were two bedrooms, a single and a double with simple furniture but unexpectedly plush beds. They weren’t anything to write home about, but they were nice. Once again, comfortable came to mind. Perfect for naps and lazing around, which meant perfect for the chill portion of the vacation.

“Brian didn’t say anything about only two bedrooms.” Deaky mused.

Brian’s voice suddenly rang out. “I didn’t know myself.”

“How did that happen?” Roger asked.

The guitarist shrugged. “The rental lady apparently got some dates mixed up and what was supposed to be our cottage was taken, so figured this was the next best thing. She was very apologetic. Even gave me a discount,” he chuckled. “Like we really need it. Not going to be a problem is it?” He looked between Rog and John who both shook their heads.

“Nah, course not, Bri. Not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a room.”

“No, it’s certainly not. Deaky, I’m assuming you’ll take the single?”

John looked sheepish for a moment. “If you don’t mind. I can always share if one of you would rather –“

“Not a problem, Deaks. Single’s all your yours. Rog doesn’t mind putting up with me, so go for it.” Both him and Roger knew John preferred more privacy and weren’t about to withhold it now. He’d always been the more independent one of the bunch.

“Thanks guys. I’m gonna go unpack a little then. See you in a bit.” John shuffled away and the remaining bandmates turned to look at each other.

“And then there were two.” Brian remarked and Roger huffed out of amusement. It quickly flitted through his mind that there’d be a lot more of that to come but he pushed it out of his head as fast as it came. One day at a time, he’d decided.

“Shall we then?” The drummer gestured to all their bags and they got quick to work at settling in.

***

Once rooms were sorted and belongings were where they should be, the three bandmates decided to get straight to work taking it easy. For John, that meant taking a nap while Brian and Roger spent some time in front of the television. The pace slow and lazy. Exactly what the doctor ordered.

“What kind of snack are you in the mood for, Rog? Matilda stocked us up pretty good, so pretty much anything you could want is here.” Brian called from the pantry as Roger flipped through channels.

“Who?”

“Landlady,” he distractedly answered.

“Ah. Well, do we have any Cheez-Its? I’m feeling kind of –“

“Crunchy?” Brian offered, flopping down next to Rog with the big red box.

“Yeah, pretty much. Thanks, Bri. What are you planning on eating though?” Roger half-teased. He was voraciously hungry. He’d barely eaten anything at dinner last night and he was feeling it now.

Brian chortled a little, his arm coming up to rest on the back of the sofa in invitation. “Don’t worry. Your crackers are mostly safe. I just want you to spare a few. Remember, I actually had a decent dinner and breakfast unlike somebody here.” So, he had been keeping an eye on the drummer.

Roger gave a weak protest, grumbling about both the sharing of his beloved snack and the offered affection. Of course, it was all for show and Brian knew it, treating him to a non-committal sound before Roger slipped into the guitarists hold and offered him the box.

As they munched away on their treat and halfway watched whatever documentary they’d settled on, a deep sense of relaxation tugged on Roger’s middle-aged bones. The food was wonderfully salty, the film required just the right level of attention (read: little), and Brian’s hold on him felt warm and secure. Why had he ever forgone this simple attention? Perhaps it was because they were so much older now or perhaps because the culture was so different than the hippie era they grew up in. Either way, Roger made a mental note to break the trend going forward, his stubbornness and ego be damned.

“You good, Roggie?” Brian asked softly. Rog hadn’t heard that nickname in years. It made him feel like he was in his 20s again and like all was right with the world.

Roger nodded, slumping against Brian more heavily. Luckily, his lanky friend didn’t seem to mind.

“It s’okay.” He slurred, sleepiness starting to kick in. He could feel Brian laugh before he even heard it, his chest rumbling pleasantly underneath Roger’s cheek. “You make a good pillow.”

“Happy to help, mate.” Brian gave a deep sigh, letting himself sink further into the soft, worn leather of the couch. It was the last thing Roger remembered before he allowed his eyes to drift closed and succumb to the tempting mistress that was sleep.

***

He didn’t know how long he had been out, nor did he really know where he was or what was happening. It felt like his brain had been ripped away from the rest of him, a needle spinning with absolutely no direction for context. All he knew was the overwhelming sense of panic and anxiety that were rising up inside of him, knocking against his ribs and throat and threatening to break him apart.

It felt like he’d lost something – or someone. Or maybe he was the one who was lost. Either way, he needed to find the rest of the guys. Maybe they could help him. They were always there to help Roger. Or were they? No. Wait. Yes. Of course they were. Deaky with his efficient, practical decisiveness. Brian with his kind, supportive steadiness. Freddie with his bravery and energy, his endless commitment to the people he loved. Hold on, a minute. Freddie was dead. He died. Roger had seen it happen. Held his hand as he stopped breathing, his emaciated body looking so small against the white of the hospital bed. He saw him flatline, heard the time of death between choking sobs.

No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t there. He’d been driving to Garden Lodge when he’d gotten the call from Phoebe. _Don’t bother coming. He’s gone._ He’d almost wrecked, tears blurring his eyes too much for him to see the road. Right? Yes. Freddie wasn’t there anymore. Roger had been to both his funerals. He said goodbye to him in his coffin, Brian and John right there beside him. He had spread Freddie’s ashes in the garden early one morning. Or did Mary do that? No, it wasn’t Mary. What the hell was he talking about? He’d seen Freddie right before he went to sleep. They’d talked about getting a new cat. No, Brian and him did. They got a new cat. Why would they get a new cat? Roger hadn’t seen Freddie in a couple weeks. Roger had gotten a new puppy with Dom a few days ago. Didn’t he mean Sarina? No –

Roger growled, squeezing his eyes shut and lightly shaking his head. Everything was so confusing. So cloudy. He couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe Freddie or John or Brian would know. They were good at knowing things when Roger wasn’t.

“So go find them,” a bored voice said. Roger’s head snapped up. Across from him was him (?), passive eyes lightly reading his own. He looked too young. Like about a decade. That bothered him for some reason. Roger got up, his chest still squeezing in that terrifying, panicky way.

He walked and he walked and he walked. A constant loop of forward. Eventually, he found John but he disappeared as soon as Roger laid a hand on his back. He reassured himself that everything would be okay but he shook, mental exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mind.

“Freddie?... Freddie?” He called out. Every few minutes, Rog would catch just a glimpse of the front man. The shine off a conditioned leather jacket, the back of Freddie’s long, feathery hair, a tease of red tie, the lapel of a yellow military jacket. It continued for hours, Roger’s pleas echoing off invisible glass walls.

“Roger? Roger dear, what’s wrong?” The drummer’s breathing evened out. Freddie. He’d make it all better. But then the ragged breathing came and he saw Freddie on his deathbed yet again. He begged him to stay with him. _Please, please don’t leave me, Freddie. Stay with me. I need you. I can’t, I can’t do this without you. Not again. Please, don’t._ Over and over again. He grasped for hands that he could never hold. He felt like he’d fucking suffocate under the weight of his cries. Three important words died on his lips as the larger than life singer died, too. Reduced to nothing but ashes.

All he could do now is whimper, face pressed against the hard ground, absent of Freddie’s warm touch. He barely noticed when he was picked up and cradled against a solid chest. The smell of rainwater and spice and curl conditioner registered in his mind, re-centering him into the here and now. Brian. Solid, sure, gentle Brian. The one constant in his life for the last 50 years. No, it’s surely been less than that. Or was it more?

“It’s okay, Rog. Relax. I’ve got you.”

Roger sighed happily, curling into the guitarist’s steady hands. He always knew what to do. Nice Brian, warm Brian. Something too warm and wet streamed down both their arms. He opened his eyes and looked in horror as blood flowed over the pair, Brian’s open wrists making him go cold.

Roger struggled desperately against the older man’s hold. He tried to stop the bleeding, tried to keep him awake. Asked the man to stay with him just as he begged Freddie. Nothing was working. Roger wailed and screamed like his life was over. He wanted it to be. All he had to do was jump and land in the pool of water below him. Just a few steps forward and he’d be tumbling, free. A voice not his own nudged at the back of his consciousness. _Not yet. Not here._

An eerily familiar loud crash sounded out and the needle that was him suddenly found direction again. Roger slammed back into himself hard, thrown into the harsh light of day.

***

Roger bolted upright, his head pounding and heart racing. He looked around alarmed, coming face to face with a very concerned and alive Brian. Oh, thank god.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, Rog. You’re okay. Shh. Relax. I’ve got you.” Roger shuddered as he heard him repeat the words he’d heard just moments ago, while Brian slowly rubbed a soothing hand along his arm. “That’s right, Roggie. Breathe with me. In and out. That’s it.”

Roger followed his friend’s directions, the heart rate slowly evening back out to normal levels.

“There you go. You’re doing great. You’re okay. It was just a dream.” He whispered in a soothing tone.

“A dream?” Roger managed to croak out, his eyes and throat stinging.

Brian gave a soft, reassuring smile. “Mmhmm. Just a dream. Nothing more. Everything’s okay now.” He squeezed a hand and raked his fingers through the drummer’s sweaty hair.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay, Rog. See?” Brian gestured to himself, turning slightly so Roger’s frantic mind could inspect him.

“Are you sure? You’re not hurt?” Roger’s eyes quickly flashed to the taller man’s wrists.

“I’m sure. I promise, Roger. I’m okay, Deaky’s okay. We’re all okay.”

 _Except for Freddie,_ the drummer’s mind unhelpfully added. That was a bitter pill to swallow, but the relief at John and Brian’s safety took precedence for the moment. It didn’t last long, though. As soon as Roger was alone for a few minutes, the elephant in the room appeared, giving voice to a hugely loaded question. _What the fuck was that?_ Roger had thought his first dream was vivid and horrible, but it didn’t even come marginally close to this one.

This one was absolutely _terrifying._ It was truly disturbing in a way Rog had never realized existed. He wouldn’t go so far as to say it felt evil, but it felt… wrong. He and Brian had called it a dream, but it wasn’t. It was nightmarish. Gruesome like one, disjointed, confusing. But he was without a doubt sure that what had happened was real on some level. He felt like he’d lived a thousand different lives all at once, each one palpable but just out of his full reach. He didn’t understand, didn’t even try to. He just knew that they happened or maybe that they could, would, might. All of them as equally real as the others. It made his heart ache and tug, all in different, conflicting directions.

All the while, though, there was still that odd feeling of peace lingering. It should’ve been fighting with the fear and uncertainty, but it wasn’t. It was like they were two sides of the same coin. Roger looked outside while he considered this, eyes landing on a young deer that found its way into the cottage’s backyard. It was an odd sight for the Londoner to be sure, but there was something else that caught his attention. Like it was almost watching him back. He felt compelled to go see it up close, so he did, mindful of the door’s noise on his way out.

“Hey little guy. What are you doing here?” Roger spoke softly like Brian had done earlier, trying not to spook the creature.

In response, it just lightly cocked its head almost considering him. Whatever it was looking for, it seemed to get it because it started away, turning its head around to meet Roger’s eyes before going any further.

Rog’s brow furrowed. “Are you like – Do you want me to… follow?”

He took a few steps forward and the creature did the same, looking back over once again to ensure he was within its line of sight.

 _What a fucking day,_ Roger muttered under his breath. _Roger Taylor, co-founding member of Queen, drummer extraordinaire, honorary playboy, almost dentist; remembering things that never happened and following a fucking deer. What a weird mental break._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a roller coaster ride, this chapter and Roger is surely experiencing a little whiplash from it all. His questions will be answered in the next one, though. Life is about to get better for him. Something we can all look forward to together. Let me know what you thought of this section and stay tuned for the next one. I'm thoroughly enjoying your comments. Catch you later, everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between COVID and a steady increase of work, my motivation has been exceptionally low. But this chapter stayed in the back of my mind and finally flew out once I just let my hands start typing away. I hope you like it after such a long wait. It's rather dark -- granted, none of the chapters have been particularly cheery. But things will get better going forward. Angst will still be prominent, but it'll be more of a healthy seasoning or side dish rather than main course. Something to look forward to! Anyways, thanks so much for your patience and support. Y'all are awesome. Enjoy and on with the show.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: major character death (temporarily), suicide (sort of), and drowning (not the most graphic -- it didn't trigger me despite being a survivor of it, but your mileage may vary). For anyone who needs to skip it, a summary can be found in the end notes.

“Okay, you’re cute and all, but come on. My feet are gonna bloody well fall off if we go much further.” Roger mumbled under his breath.

The blonde drummer and his new deer friend had been walking for a good 20 minutes, and Roger was feeling all the dumber for it every second. Yeah, it was a strange situation to be sure. He wasn’t an animal expert by any means (he’d leave that to a certain curly-haired badger whisperer, thank you very much), but even he knew deer didn’t do this. Did that mean it was actually wanting him to follow, though? Or even if it did, did that mean he _should_ follow it? Rog wasn’t so sure anymore.

Just as he was about to turn around and call all of this a momentary lapse of sanity, the tree-covered path he was on suddenly opened up to a space unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Despite it also being outside, it was completely cut off from anything else around it. Ridiculously tall trees, bushes, and all manner of other greenery completely boxed the area in like hedges sectioning off a park, practically forming full, solid walls. The only way out or in was the path he’d previously traveled and even that felt somehow less accessible than it was just seconds ago. He should’ve probably felt concerned, but it was just so… pretty.

There were flowers every which way he looked, sprinkled around the landscape in gorgeous, delicate patches. No color of the rainbow was left out, with an assortment of deep red roses, royal purple freesias, and all other manner of petaled things ranging from dusty pink to vibrant orange. However, there was more yellow than anything – sunflowers, daisies, carnations, daffodils, and a dozen other florals he had no names for. It was like looking at the sun itself, and it made everything about him feel warm and comfortable.

Meanwhile, the grass was beyond green, so saturated that it almost hurt his eyes to look at it, and the sky here somehow seemed even brighter, a vibrant cerulean only dotted with a couple fluffy clouds. It was all just so inviting and pleasant, and the sun lightly streaming through the tree’s branches only helped. The deer that led him here seemed to agree, happily grazing several feet away.

But after he adjusted to his surroundings, he quickly found his gaze captivated by something else: a large stone water feature. It was covered in moss and a few hanging vines, but he could tell it was absolutely beautiful. And old. It looked like a relic from a completely different time, an ancient-looking fountain standing tall in the middle, surrounded by a massive pool of water that looked like it continued below ground.

What caught him off guard, though, was that water was still trickling down from the fountain and the water remained crystal clear even with the other signs of age. A slight feeling of confusion registered in the back of his head. It didn’t make any sense.

“Ah, somehow knew I’d find you here,” someone said in a thick accent. Roger jumped, spinning around so fast it almost made him nauseous. He just knew that voice.

When he saw the man, his jaw dropped. He had clearly aged like the rest of them, gaining a couple pounds and his hair starting to grey. He’d also lost the barely-there British lilt he’d acquired over the years, but it was still him. Jim.

The man lightly chuckled and smiled at him, his eyes creasing in the corners. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, Rog.” He lifted his chin, looking over Rog’s shoulder. “Managed to find the fountain, I see.”

Roger blinked at him stupidly, willing his throat to cooperate. Eventually he was able to sputter out, “Jim? What – what’re you doing here?”

“I live here now.”

“In the middle of a forest? Couldn’t have picked anywhere with better amenities?” His brain might not be working much at the minute, but apparently his snark was just fine. 

Jim laughed and took it in stride, just as he always did. He moved closer to the blonde, gently sitting on the edge of the fountain.

“I more meant Adare in general, but hey, I could do a hell of a lot worse than living at a place like this. Don’t you think?”

“When did you come here? When we last saw you, we thought you went back to your hometown.”

Jim paused for a minute. “I did. I even built a house with the money Fred left me. But I don’t know. Something just kind of told me I should be here.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette pack only to look disappointed. “Moved in a couple of months ago. Have a smoke on ya?”

Roger nodded, pulling one out for the other man before lighting up himself. The smoke drawing into his lungs felt nice as did the gentle breeze against his skin. It was all so weird, finding himself in this place, talking to Jim like the years hadn’t passed. Perhaps what was weirdest of all is that it didn’t really feel all that strange.

“So, I told you what I’m doing here. What about you?” Jim raised an eyebrow, looking at him expectantly. As blunt and straight to the point as ever. Roger had always appreciated that about him.

He took another deep breath, the nicotine making him feel light and slightly dizzy. “I’m on vacation right now.”

“Really? Brought the kids and everything?”

Roger laughed. “No, Brian actually dragged me and Deaks here. We’re having a –“ he vaguely gestured. “A mates’ getaway or something. Don’t really know what to call it.”

“Not really like you to just go along with one of his plans. I remember you two fighting like cats. Couldn’t agree on anything.”

“No, not really. Didn’t used to. But after Freddie, you know… And it seemed important to him. Figured why not.”

Jim made a noise of approval, briefly flicking the ash off his cigarette before shifting gears. “So, what do you think of the fountain?”

Roger twisted a little to properly look at it. “It’s pretty. Kind of odd, though, isn’t it? And what’s it doing out here? Didn’t see this on any of the billion maps Brian’s got stuffed in his bag.”

“Well,” the other man started. “Legend says that this place is protected. Only certain people can get in and out. It’s basically invisible to anybody else. They can’t find it even if they want to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently, one of the old gods still protects it. Coming here is apparently invitation only.” His eyes quickly flashed to the deer hanging around before settling on Roger. “The people who need to be here are led here. The rest won’t even see it.”

“We’re here.”

Jim hummed. “Yeah, we are.”

He gestured towards the fountain. “Fountain’s said to be magic, you know. It grants wishes.”

Oh yeah. Rog remembered that from Brian’s stupid brochure. He couldn’t help but scoff a little.

“I know. That’s generally my attitude, towards it, too. But you got to admit…”

The greying brunette didn’t even have to finish the sentence. Roger understood what he was saying.

“So, about this fountain. What kind of wishes does it give ya? – Supposedly,” he tacked on.

“Well, not the kind where you wish you had a hundred Alfa Romeos or a lifetime supply of free lap dances, if that’s what you’re asking.” Jim’s eyes flashed with amusement before turning thoughtful. “More like the types of wishes worth having, I suppose. The ones that you’re desperate for, that hurt. The kinds that really mean something. Wishes that a parent wasn’t sick or –“

“Or that your best friend and other friend’s husband wasn’t dead? That you could go back and stop it all from happening?”

A slight look of surprise crossed both their faces before Jim’s settled into a look of understanding. “Or that. Yeah, that’s a pretty good one,” he softly said.

They sat there in silence for a bit, only the sound of their breathing and the trickling water providing a mild backdrop. Eventually, Jim put out his cigarette and pocketed the last little bit and Roger followed suit.

“Do you think it’s real?” Roger asked, his voice sounding small and foreign even to his own ears.

“Honestly? Yeah, I do.” He sighed. “I’ve been having these… dreams. At first, I thought they were just coincidence, but they kept happening. And then one day, I was led here.” His gaze settled on the deer again and Roger followed suit, only to see it watching them right back intently.

“Is that why you weren’t surprised to see me?”

Jim looked almost puzzled for a second, seemingly having forgotten about that before tipping his head in assent. 

“I’ve been having dreams, too.” He admitted. “Only they’re less like dreams and more like… remembering backwards.”

The Irishman looked at him encouragingly and he continued.

“It’s like, echoes. I have these little snippets rattling around in my head. Memories that never happened but feel like they did. Some of them aren’t even mine, I don’t think.” Roger was rushing but couldn’t quite seem to slow down, the words tumbling out his mouth before he could stop himself. “

I don’t know, it’s –” he shook his head. “And I’ve had these horrible nightmares of Freddie dying and losing Brian and Deaky. Like I’m being warned about something or told about something or. I don’t know. It’s probably just my brain being all messed up but... Have you had anything like that?”

“Geez, blondie. I’m sorry. That sounds… well, not very fun. I haven’t had that. Not exactly, anyways. I dreamt something about this and –“ He paused, shrugging. Sometimes I do see a different version of things playing out. In the dreams, but also just thinking about it.”

He seemed hesitant to continue but did anyways.

“Don’t get me wrong, Rog. I loved Freddie. I loved him more than anyone can imagine.”

Roger’s eyes softened. He knew that. Of course, he did. He saw it all the time, saw how the man gave everything to make his dying husband happy. So many others would’ve left after hearing Freddie was on borrowed time, but not Jim. He’d stuck around without the slightest bit of wavering.

It was illegal for them to get married, obviously, but he really lived out those vows. He had been Freddie’s rock, one of the things that kept him going, smiling. He’d carry him to see his art and accompany him to radiation and build him little blanket forts to make him feel safe when he got home. And, when the end was close, he’d sit up all night, just keeping the ill singer company, indulging him in all the plans Freddie made despite knowing he’d never see them happen.

Jim was a saint and it simultaneously filled Roger with a sad thankfulness and soul-crushing guilt. The man had done so much and what had Roger done? Not nearly enough. He visited, but only until someone else did. He’d sit by Freddie’s bed, but only until he fell asleep. He’d stayed by Freddie’s side, but only until he couldn’t take it anymore. Then he’d go home and sob at his office desk and drink until he was passed out on the floor. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

Freddie refused to see anyone who cried over him, so Roger’s always left. He wished he hadn’t, or maybe that he’d been strong enough to hide the tears from him. Wished none of it had happened at all, because good lord. _Why Freddie?_

He brought his thoughts back. “I know you did, Jim.”

“But you know. He was different with you. Freer in a way, I guess. More open. He _knew_ you and you _knew_ him. You could read him, could always see what was below the surface of what he was doing or saying. And he knew that, too.”

“Well, yeah. I met him way before Queen ever happened. We knew each other for a long time, Jim. Lived together in a shitty flat with no heat and ripped people off with fur coats.” Rog shrugged. “That kind of leaves a big impression. He’s just a part of my mental wallpaper.”

“I know.” Jim looked at him kindly. “And you were part of his. You were his soulmate, Roger. You were able to keep up with him. You never backed down when he was wrong or being stupid or stubborn. Sometimes I wonder what that would look like had things played out differently.”

Roger squirmed a little. “Do you think it would really work – even if the wish were real? I mean, we’re not the only ones who’ve lost something. We’re a lot better off than some.”

“Look, I’m not an expert in any of this. I just know the stories. I know it sounds crazy. But I also think the universe sometimes has an opinion about certain things.”

“And you think it has an opinion about what happened to Freddie?” Roger interrupted.

Jim looked at him steadily. “Yeah, I do. Otherwise, why would we be here?”

“Coincidence?” Rog supplied weakly. The other man chuckled quietly.

“You may be a blonde, Rog, but you do have a background in science. You know math. What’re the odds?”

Jim had a good point. What _were_ the odds? Two blokes who hadn’t seen each other in so long, hadn’t even lived in the same country in years, who were, for lack of a better word, still grieving the same guy after all these years. Both ending up here at the same time, at a “magic” fountain after experiencing all sorts of unexplainable things. Roger didn’t have to run the numbers to know they were near statistically impossible. Their odds of winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning (twice) was better. Maybe it was real – maybe there was a kind of magic at work.

It was silly, but the thought gave him the first feeling of hope in he didn’t even know how long.

He took a deep breath and gave a long exhale, feeling his shoulders release a little tension. “Well, if I was entertaining that you’re right. If. That we were here for a reason and this isn’t some made up myth, how would that even work?”

Jim’s face settled into more of a grimace than anything, a look that made the lines beginning to form on his face more prominent, made him at once look more like his age.

“See, that’s the not-so-fun bit.”

“Well, let’s hear it then. Spit it out.”

The greying brunette shifted, shoulders tight with tension.

“Old life for a new life.” He turned a little to look at the water, clear but nowhere near shallow. There’s no telling how deep it actually was.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jim gave him a look. “When were kids, they told us the magic here is ancient and dangerous. It doesn’t just give you things for free. You’re chosen to come here, given the opportunity to use it. But you need to hold up your end of the bargain. Give it something worth sacrificing in return.”

“Guess this one wants something a little more valuable than coins then, right?” He meant it as a joke, but his words came out shaky and thin. Somehow the drummer knew what Jim was going to say before he ever even went to speak.

“You’re supposed to sacrifice yourself, aren’t you?”

Jim’s hand lightly skimmed through the water, weaving in distracted patterns. “As I said. Old life for a new one.”

“That’s – that’s kind of horrifying.” It was. But at the same time, it didn’t feel quite as ominous, as creepy as it should’ve.

“In Catholicism, that makes it downright evil. I like to think of myself as a good Catholic boy,” he lightly joked. “But, I don’t know. There’s something about it, about this place that doesn’t feel like that at all.”

“Why would it want a sacrifice if it’s willing to fix things, give you a new life?” Roger backpedaled. “The fountain or… whatever magic is tied up in it, I mean.”

“I don’t know. Maybe to prove you’re serious? That you’re deserving of it?” 

They both sat there uneasily, a thick, strained silence filling Roger’s ears. So, he was more convinced about the authenticity of the legend, against his better judgement. It made as much sense as anything else had in recent years. Maybe even more. The probability, despite how nuts it all sounded, was on the side of truth. But that still didn’t mean this was something they should get involved in.

Sacrifice, dying. _Killing himself_ , Roger’s mind reminded. No matter how temporary, that was drastic, that was insane. And all for the slight hope of changing something years past? That was even crazier. But to change things. To bring him back, save his tragically lost best friend. Wasn’t that worth it? His head was spinning, completely torn about what to do or feel.

Him and Jim spoke up again minutes later. They made light conversation, avoiding everything but the topic that really deserved talking about. But Rog could tell that the previous topic wasn’t dropped, just simmering in the background.

They both had a lot to think about and the two eventually parted, exchanging numbers and promises to keep in touch. There was an unspoken _and let me know if you plan on committing suicide for a magic fountain,_ in there too, but Roger just let the sentiment drift on the wind and walked back the way he came.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the deer’s ears twitch before it laid down, looking to settle down for the long night ahead.

***

Roger’s contemplation about the situation lasted all of two days. The nightmares – or whatever they were – had drastically ramped up, which Roger didn’t even know they could do. Every time he tried to sleep or even nap, he was treated to nothing but images of death, dying, and regret.

The darkness that had already been present in them was all-consuming, bleeding over into his waking life, too. Waking up was immediately followed by a panic attack that rivaled even some of Roger’s worst in university and a near-constant echo of whatever he heard deep in sleep continued ringing in his head throughout the day.

His mind oscillated between a live wire, sparking violent and gruesome and a kind of coffin, threatening to suffocate the live man within it while also making him sluggish and stupid, muffling any protests he did manage to give all the while. It inspired absolute dread. Just going through the motions of living was exhausting and Roger wondered more than once if this was similar to the type of depression Brian had been falling into time and again. He suspected it was and wanted desperately to apologize to the guitarist for all the times Roger brushed it off unconcernedly or worse yet, got irritated over it.

He couldn’t make the words come, though. Couldn’t do anything to rouse himself from the external stupor that had overtaken him. Then he felt guilty about that, too, seeing Brian and John bend over backwards to try and make him feel better when the poorly-constructed mask fell off. They’d offered to completely change around their plans, offering to cancel the vacation entirely, cut the trip short, extend the trip, go to the last town, go to Ibiza instead. They’d also offered to seriously alter the itinerary, promising to trade town hangouts for nightclub ventures, trade museum visits for whiskey taste-tests, trade short hikes for long days at the racetrack.

And when he said he was fine with exactly what they were doing and where they were at, they took to making all his meals, giving him warm hugs, and gently singing to him when he woke from a terrifying, fitful sleep. It made his heart feel so full, he thought it would crack.

But it also left him feeling all the worse. He was putting them through so much, could tell how worried they were. Just the last couple of days put a deep furrow in John’s brow and formed almost painful-looking dark circles under Brian’s eyes. He heard them whispering amongst each other in his drifting not-quite-awake moments, caught hushed words of concern and their own guilt at not being able to do much.

“I don’t know what to do, Deaks. I feel so fucking helpless.” Brian muttered, muffled behind hands covering his face.

“I don’t think there’s much we can do, Bri. Just let him know we’re here for him.”

There was a pause and a wet sniffle. “That’s not enough. He’s been so miserable and not just the last few days. I think he has been a long time. He’s tried hiding it, but I know he’s – I feel like we’re losing him, John. I can’t – we’ve already lost so much. I don’t know what to do.”

After that, the conversation broke apart into quiet hushing and small crying noises. It twisted something deep inside Roger and he found himself silently slipping out the back door after leaving a couple short messages.

***

The green space and fountain seemed to be closer to the rented house than before but looked completely as he’d left it – a certain Irishman included.

Rog slowed his hurried steps and licked his lips nervously. “I left you a message on your machine.”

Jim hums. “I was already here waiting.”

Roger doesn’t ask him how he knows that, figuring the knowledge came from Jim’s own dreams. For a second, Roger can’t help but be both infinitely grateful and thoroughly jealous about how mild that is compared to his own nightmares.

Neither man says anything for a while, just settling down at the fountain in a complete hush. Jim’s the first to break it.

“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” He asks softly, delicately.

Is he? Is he really going to do this? Kill himself (sort of?) on the off chance some ancient, dark magic can fix what feels like a very horrible, terrible, personal wrong? Yes, he realizes. The answer’s yes.

No matter what’s happening here, he doesn’t really see a much better way out. There’s no way the things he’s experiencing are normal, even considering the oddities that come along with depression. It’s making his mental health fail fast, not so much ushering him towards the edge of a proverbial cliff than sharply shoving him over it. And he doesn’t see how anyone can do anything about it.

But that doesn’t really matter, does it? Because he’s not just using this as an opportunity to off himself. Although, he’s not quite sure he’s protesting that point, either. He genuinely would do anything to fix the last decade or so, wipe the slate clean no matter how unlikely it is to work. He owes that, doesn’t he?

To Freddie, of course, his best friend since his early twenties. He’d long ago declared that he’d take a bullet for the sometimes infuriating, always brilliant man – and he’d meant it. He’d never had the opportunity to nor the opportunity to save him from the virus that took millions of innocent lives too early, though.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d begged and pleaded with whatever god or gods or energy that existed to spare him. Offered up his entire fame, fortune, life to undo the indescribably awful fate that had befallen the man. Drank himself silly nightly, engaged in the most reckless, self-destructive cycle he could think of, foolishly hoping that maybe if he was in enough danger, was fucked up enough, that Fred would somehow miraculously come back to them.

Of course he didn’t. Roger knew it didn’t work like that, but he had to try. As if that meant anything after the fact. So, why not try one more crazy thing? Why not finally cash in on that old promise?

And not just for Fred, but for everyone – Brian and John and Debbie and his kids and everyone else whose lives were messed up by the ripples of that painful day in 1991. He owed them that much, right? To try and prevent all the sadness and pain? To prevent his kids from having a distant father and his girlfriend from such a shitshow of a partner? To absolve Deaky the guilt of leaving and protect Brian from the next depressive episode that could easily take his own life? That seemed like a good, almost noble enough reason for Rog.

“Yeah, Jim. Yeah, I’m gonna do it.” He whispered.

An early evening breeze ruffled the impossibly yellow flower petals and Roger felt the stress finally lift off his shoulders. No matter what happened, he was finally at the end. There was now a light at the end of the tunnel.

“Okay.”

The drummer wanted to sigh in relief. No arguments, no disagreement. Just a respectful, if slightly resigned acceptance.

“How do I do this?”

Jim considered him, only slightly wavering. “I think it has to directly involve the fountain. Other than that, it’s up to you, Rog. What do you want?”

Roger slipped his hand into the water, his eyes following as the water levels crept up his skin. Jim watched too and seemed to grasp onto his train of thought.

“Are you sure? That seems… rather unpleasant.”

“I almost drowned once at the ocean as a kid. That wasn’t so terrible, I guess. I’ll pass out pretty quick.”

The other man looked a little green around the gills but pressed on. “I suppose so.”

“Seems as good as anything.” He took a few deep breaths and took in the space around him, one last time. It really was beautiful. Lightly swaying foliage, the golds and pinks of the still barely-there sunset, the soft fur of the strange, brave deer, the look of care in Jim’s dark eyes.

“Jim, before I do this, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Rog. Of course.”

“Why are you letting me do this?”

The Irishman’s gaze found his and turned intense. “Because I somehow just know that this will work. If I thought for even a second that you’d actually be dying for good, I’d haul your ass out of here and never look back.”

Roger’s lips couldn’t help but quirk up at the edges. “I appreciate that.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do, Jim.” He said softly.

“Is that why _you’re_ doing it? Because you know I’d never let anything happen to you?”

Not really. He does know that Jim would never knowingly let him walk into danger if he wasn’t sure it was for good reason and he trusts his judgement. Far more than his own, actually. But that’s not why he’s willing to legitimately drown himself. He’s still not entirely sold that this would turn out okay. It’s just that he has enough personal disregard and enough care for his friends and family to take the risk.

He tells Jim this in so many words and a wry smile pops up on his face. “Well, let’s hope I’m right and you’re wrong.”

A huff that could be a laugh escapes Roger’s throat and he swings his legs over the fountain. He slowly lowers himself and almost sighs.

The temperature is almost the exact one of the air around them, and it makes the drummer feel lax and weightless. Something about it feels familiar and protected regardless of the danger around the corner, and he lets himself enjoy the moment, however brief.

Jim watches as the water comes up further and further on the blonde and Rog can see the concern wash over the man’s face. He may very well trust the legends and whatever he was hearing at night, but he’s not immune to the gravity of the situation.

Roger’s now more than chest deep in the fountain, treading water. A bottom is nowhere to be found. A shiver goes down Roger’s spine and a muscle in his neck begins to jump wildly as the water licks it, his body finally feeling the anxiousness it should.

His mind is also catching up. He’s still fully in but there’s a niggling fear in the back of his brain. Primal, instinctive. Will it be like he vaguely remembers? How long will he be conscious? Will it hurt? What’s he going to see – if anything – once the deep fluid and lack of oxygen does their job?

Jim obviously sees the fear and his voice turns warm. “You don’t have to do this Rog.”

“No. No, I do. I just – I don’t want to be alone,” Roger blurts out in a timid voice. It makes it harder to keep his head above water, but he reaches an arm out to Jim.

The man immediately reaches back for him, his hand firmly cradling Roger’s. A warm thumb gently sweeps over the drummer’s calloused knuckles.

“You aren’t. I’m right here, Rog.”

“Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.” There’s something in the way Jim’s looking at him that feels complicated and heavy. Rog can tell that Jim’s unsure whatever he should be encouraging him or convincing him to get out of the water right now. Instead, he’s just met with the same look and he’s grateful for it.

“Don’t forget to think about your wish. And Rog – I’ve got you.” He squeezes his hand and Rog smiles at him one last time.

An instinctual deep breath in and he pushes his head underwater, only his arm unsubmerged.

He closes his eyes and concentrates, wishing for his do-over. Freddie Mercury – the man who accidentally sold Roger’s favorite jacket for little more than a pack of smokes then nearly burnt down the flat making him a roast in apology.

The same infuriating, hilarious, snotty, generous man who bought him that gorgeous yellow TVR for Christmas with his album advance and then chided him after he promptly wrecked it, who once dropped an entire week of classes just because Roger was lonely and bailed him out of jail after a near-disastrous bar fight. Freddie who always lit up a room and broke mirrors when he thought he let his fans down and stood by Roger even when he was being an absolute tit. The same man who didn’t deserve to die such a horrible, early death.

_Please. Let me go back. Let me see him. Give me a chance to fix this. Please dear god. Just let me save him. I’ll do anything._

His lungs were now fiercely burning in his chest. No air, only water. Lord it hurt and almost every other sensation was pushed out of his body. But thoughts of his departed friend and the slightly fuzzy feeling of Jim’s persistent grip kept him underwater. It was terrifying – he was terrified. But he had to do this. He held onto Jim even tighter and the man did it back, his hold nearly breaking Roger’s bones.

Rog could intuitively sense the man’s muscles straining, consciously held back to keep him from tugging the blonde to safety. The touch was clearly conflicted, but steady and comforting nonetheless, even as Roger began seeing colors behind his eyelids and hearing high-pitched noises that weren’t there. 

Seconds felt like hours. The pain was worse than he could’ve ever anticipated, crushing him under its force. But his body started to sag, give into the lack of oxygen. It wouldn’t be long now. He just kept repeating his wish. And as the colors and sound eventually gave way to a dark nothingness, he let his last thought shift to Jim. Still there. Still holding on with everything in him. True to his word, he didn’t let Roger be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER SUMMARY: Roger follows the deer that has been leading him and discovers an oddly beautiful, private space complete with a deep, ancient fountain. After taking in his surroundings, he's surprised to find none other than Jim there -- although the man is not the least bit surprised at seeing Roger. After a decent discussion, Jim tells Rog the story of the fountain. 
> 
> Ancient, magical, and only revealing itself to those deemed worthy by the powers that protect it, it will grant any meaningful wish. The catch? You must be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and prove yourself truly worthy. After thinking on it and the past years, Roger makes the choice to go through with it himself. Jim's at his side through it all, torn between support and protection. When Roger finally makes the plunge, he physically (and emotionally) holds him through it all. Roger's grateful and determined, and the scene eventually fades to black.


End file.
